


On Top of the World

by primeideal



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Deal with a Devil, Gen, Post-Canon, Song Lyrics, Stealth Crossover, Yuletide 2016, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: It's a busy life for Madalena, between the dark arts, diva solos, and refereeing particularly high stakes showdowns of "Guess-the-Name-on-my-Forehead."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizmo/gifts).



> I love your prompts and fandoms so much! While knowledge of other universes should not be required to enjoy this fic (after all, Gareth and Sid certainly don't have any), this was especially inspired by dizmo's taste.
> 
> Many thanks to htbthomas for looking this over.
> 
> The lyrics are not to any particular tune, they're just their own thing. ;)

Queen-in-Exile, Dark Artist Extraordinaire, Sorcerer's Apprentice, and Fashion Consultant (In Training) Madalena was having a good day. When she had attempted to break into song, she had not been drowned out by any of the inanimate objects in her quarters; no enchanted mirror had overshadowed her with an ominous prophecy, no clock had attempted to wave its jazz hands in foreboding, no knives had butted in to deliver any cutting remarks. Only a couple woodland beasts clambering outside her window had attempted to harmonize with her before she'd banished them. This, by the standards of her warm-up exercises, already counted as a good day.

Still, as her mentor put it, there was no excuse for staying out of practice. There was no telling when she might be called upon to command the spotlight, to shatter the fourth wall with unparalleled cruelty or frigidity. And so, she began to warble once again. “A composition by a previous student,” the Dark Evil Lord had explained.

“Yours?” Madalena had asked. “Your former master's?”

He hadn't clarified.

That was, she supposed, on a need-to-know basis. There were more important concerns. Like making sure the piranhas in the moat were still swimming. Or that the incredibly nasty boiling oil kept in reserve was still bubbling away. Or that the booby-traps in the palace gate were still loaded. Next to that, the provenance of a song wasn't nearly so concerting. “As long,” the DEL threatened, “as you can sing it on-key.”

“When you're on top of the world,” Madalena began,  
“It's a pretty good place to be,  
When you're on top of the world  
You're not falling; you're flying free.  
You can devour whatever you choose,  
And monstrously eat your fill.  
Oh, and when you're on top of the world,  
Then it's all downhill.

When you've got nowhere to climb  
All of the world does your bidding.  
Terribly high and sublime,  
Awfully dark and forbidding.  
You can play any role you please,  
Whatever you think fits the bill  
Oh, and when you're above the whole fray  
Then it's all downhill.

When you rule all of the roost  
Nobody gives you a lift,  
And you give no one a boost,  
You only give them short shrift.  
No need to dole mercy out.  
Only move in for the kill.  
When you're alone at the top  
Then it's all downhill.

When you're the queen of the bees  
Honey, you make all the buzz  
You bring the proud to their knees  
But never touch them, because  
It's you who die when you sting.  
So you cannot strike until  
There's not a beat left to sing  
Then it's all downhill.

When you're the top of the heap  
When you're the best of the best  
Life is a dream with no sleep  
As you outdo all the rest.  
Careful you don't trip and fall  
There isn't time to keep still  
Time gets the best of us all  
Then it's all downhill.

When you're the jack of all trades  
And find you're everyone's master  
When your bright star never fades  
Enemies meet with disaster,  
Victories cannot be hollow,  
Though some seem a bitter pill,  
The tastes fade after you swallow.  
Then it's all downhill.

When you're on top of the song,  
Wanting something else to reach,  
Someone else might come along,  
Somebody else you can teach.  
Maybe you'll swallow your pride,  
And go for it with a will.  
Careful then what you decide—  
Then it's all downhill.”

She broke off. The DEL was calling for her in her scryglass. “Hello?” she said. “And I don't know why you have to keep fetching me this way, honestly, we live in the _same castle_.”

“Madalena! Come urgently!”

“Where?”

“The main hallway. We have _company_.”

“What—peasants? Edible ones?”

“No.”

“Fellow practitioners of D'DEW?”

“No. _Uninvited_ guests.”

“But—that's not possible! The defenses...”

“Just come.”

Madalena hustled down the staircase from her chambers into the main hall. It was slightly more glamorous, in her view, than Richard's palace had been. Rather than his crude table manners, the DEL had littered the place with all sorts of clairvoyancy mechanisms, from a tea kettle that he only used for leaf-reading (she occasionally would indulge in tea) to an oversized scryglass he used to keep tabs on all sorts of malevolent doings. Reading animal carcasses had to be conducted outside, and of course, any projects destined for the blood-red carpet could not be exhibited at dinner where they might get messy.

She had expected some kind of enchanter who could breach the defenses, someone with the unfortunate Wormwood's strength. At the very least, someone committed to the cause of evil. No one else would willingly show up on the DEL's door otherwise.

But she was not prepared for what she found awaiting her. Two men; one an experienced henchman, skilled in the brutal ways of miniondom, and one a young squire, fresh-eyed and determined. Somehow, amazingly, Gareth and Sidney had found a way to best all their barriers.

“You'd better explain what you're doing here,” barked the Dark Evil Lord.

“Well,” said Gareth, “I have some unfinished business to settle with your, ah—”

“No, I mean, what you're doing _here_. As in, how you got through the door.”

“Oh, that,” said Sydney. “So, I convinced a local collective to dig a canal to irrigate their village from your moat. Then the boiling oil just fell in _there_ instead and scalded the piranhas to death, at which point, we were able to sneak across. We figured the front door would be booby-trapped or something, so we had to sneak in through the back, and were warned that the guards would detain anyone who wasn't wearing amazingly coordinated outfits. Gareth got a couple tips from Prince Harry's _Hortensian Haberdashery_ , and I borrowed some tips from Destiny.”

“Wait,” said the DEL, “by destiny, do you mean that a tiny squire like you has control over the fates, because I'm going to call your bluff on that.”

“No,” Madalena sighed, “I'm pretty sure he doesn't, and this pun is kind of overused by now.”

“Sorry!” said Sidney. “Anyway, yeah, we came through the courtyard—what did you do to the goat, by the way? And then here we are.”

“I see,” said the DEL. “Well, begone with you.”

“Not so fast,” said Gareth. “For we trust in a power that you dare not defy so quickly.”

“If this is about the power of love or whatever, then I'm out,” said Madalena. “You chose ridiculous ideals like friendship and trying to hack it amidst a horde of zombies over me! Don't think you can come crawling back now.”

“Trying to hack it?” Sidney asked indignantly. “We pulled through!”

“Maybe so,” Gareth admitted. “And I don't expect you to ever take me back, after how we left. But that doesn't mean I can't be of service to you.”

“You?” Madalena laughed. “Serve me? I have powers you cannot dream of.”

“That is true,” said Gareth. “But power comes at a price.”

“Do you wish to learn power such as Madalena wields?” the DEL asked. “Perhaps an accommodation can be made.”

“When Wormwood first came to our court,” Gareth said, his voice steady, “he offered to teach you the Dark, Dark Evil Way. I voiced my objections. You gave an ear to them—those were times when my opinion still meant something to you. And you told me you would not pledge him anything.”

“That is true,” said Madalena.

“Did you change your mind?”

“You dare to wonder if I, sorcerer and queen, would accept any limitations on my strength? You come to my citadel of power, and suggest that I might have contented myself with weakness? Of course I changed my mind, you fool!”

He shrugged. “Just thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Now that we've caught up on this, ah, personal history, can you beat it?” asked the DEL. “Or do I have to evict you?”

“Not so fast!” Sidney said. “Did you sign away your soul, Madalena?”

“My soul?” she said. “What of it?”

“You know, it's been a long time since I've read Torah in the congregation,” he said, “but I'm pretty sure people are generally agreed to be better off in control of their own souls. I would even go so far to say that most secular experts agree with this consensus.”

“It's the twelfth century, time to get with the times,” Madalena rolled her eyes. “Soul theory is _so_ out. Not giving a rip is the new market efficiency. I totally got the better end of the deal.”

“To be fair, you are alive and Wormwood is not,” said Gareth, “so that already counts as the better end of the deal.”

“Exactly! It's this life that matters, not fretting about the next.”

“Well, just in case,” said Gareth, “we thought we should help you, you know, get your soul back.”

“That's not possible!” Madalena blurted.

“Really? Only the villagers in the local collective seem to regard you as some sort of dealer in wrongly-transferred souls. You haven't been spreading _lies_ , have you?” Sidney asked the DEL.

“Okay, okay, it's possible,” the DEL conceded. “But only technically. I went through a Grim Reaper phase a couple years ago and I had to pick up this super annoying 'Chess With Death' clause, so yes, if you or your delegate defeat me in single combat you _can_ be restored to full liberties...”

“Grim Reaper phrase?” Madalena asked. “And you didn't tell me?”

“Delegate?” asked Gareth.

“Single combat?” asked Sidney.

“Like I said,” said the DEL. “A mere technicality, since nobody could ever defeat me head-to-head.”

“A mere technicality,” Madalena repeated, “because I'm not going to _fight him_! He's my teacher and friend and mentor, and I think all this is a bunch of malarkey! So, for the last time, get out or you'll be—”

“Yeah, yeah, evicted,” said Sidney, “we get it. What's this about a delegate?”

“The old Grim Reaper was really letting his guard down and had picked up a bunch of loopholes,” said the DEL. “I wouldn't advise you to pursue—”

“If Madalena refuses, I could fight on her behalf?” Gareth asked.

“You _could_. But that would require her to be the arbiter of the contest, setting the conditions.”

“Can't be that hard to look after a chess game, can it?”

“Gareth,” Sidney pointed out, “you're terrible at chess.”

“Ssh,” he said, “you don't need to tell _him_ that.”

“You said 'single combat,' right? Does it have to be chess?” Sidney asked.

“Well...” the DEL hesitated.

“Sounds like a 'no' to me.”

“Does it matter?” Gareth hissed. “Look, Sid, I'm a natural _henchman_! I bust skulls! And I make people find backhanded claims for me to accede to the throne. But I can't actually do anything properly gamesmanshippy. I mean, my horseshoes strategy is to throw them at my opponents and knock them out, I dunno how to count up the numbers on the dice super good, and I never learned how to play tennis because it involves having to serve people, which is not appropriate for someone of my station.”

“You're good at games,” Sidney protested.

“Name one.”

“Uh...'guess the name on my forehead.' You're amazing at that. Particularly after a drink or two.”

“All right. Then I challenge you, mister...”

“ _Dark Evil Lord_ ,” Madalena whispered.

“Yup, that, to a decisive battle of _Guess-The-Name-On-My-Forehead._ ”

“I am a master of every kind of competition,” said the DEL. “And when you lose?”

“I won't lose.”

“It's your own soul that will be forfeit.”

“Well, at that point you might as well take the deal,” Madalena laughed, “it's not as if _you_ stand to lose anything either.”

“Sure I do,” Gareth said. “But I can't stand by and let you suffer while I walk free.”

“That's almost chivalrous,” said Madalena.

“Is that a good thing?” Sidney said.

“Of course not,” Gareth said. “Madalena is a fearsome magician and, as she boasts, probably a far more devastating warrior than I am. She should be fighting this battle herself.”

“Save your moralizing,” said Madalena, trekking off to the dungeons to fetch a quill and parchment.

As arbiter, the DEL explained, she would get to dictate the terms of the game, in particular, choosing the names of the personages to be guessed. She would set them at an equal level of difficulty, of course. Sidney would insist on shuffling or something irritatingly high-minded like that, and it would not do to let the favorite come down to the luck of the draw. But what she _could_ do was make them sufficiently obscure that Gareth would have no chance of knowing their names. Only a true scholar like the Dark Evil Lord, versed in the lore of other worlds far beyond their own, of the comings and goings of the beasts of the forest, would have any hope of divining the identities.

For Madalena had no intention of letting her gracious host be humiliated on home turf. Oh, it was probably all a load of nonsense—wasn't it?—but there was no way she would let Gareth get the better of her fellow dark artist if she had anything to say about it. Gareth had spurned her once, and there was no need to let it happen again.

Folding the parchments over, she passed them off to Sidney. “If you'd shuffle?” she asked, and he gladly did so. “Oh, hold on,” she said, sprinting upstairs. “This might take a while. You fellows are going to be wanting classy bandanas to hold them in place.”

Once those were found, Sidney passed out the parchments, and the contestants strapped their identities in place. “Since the DEL is the host,” said Madalena, “it's only fair that he go first.”

Gareth sighed.

“This is an _outrage_!” Sidney blurted. “How is Gareth supposed to know who any of these people are?”

Madalena shrugged. “Can he read?”

“Yes...”

“That's progress from when I met him, isn't it? He'll be fine.”

“But what if he can't answer the question?”

“If you can't give an answer, I'll look into the big scryball and figure it out.”

“If you say so,” said Sidney, clearly not trusting her.

“I'm the arbiter!” said Madalena. “My decisions are final. Boss, go for it.”

“Right,” said the DEL. “Am I a male?”

“I haven't the first idea,” said Gareth.

Maybe she should have chosen something a _bit_ easier. This wasn't exactly going to be a spectator job. “Yes, you are.”

“Brilliant,” said Gareth. “Er, am _I_ a male?”

“Let me consult the scryglass,” said the DEL.

“Can you both use the same scryglass?” Sidney asked. “Or do you risk seeing what Madalena was looking at?”

“I'll just get my own scryglass,” said Madalena.

She trooped up the stairs and back, retrieving her own smaller device, returning in time to learn that the DEL had satisfied himself with his research and had informed Gareth that Gareth's individual was _not_ a male.

“Okay,” said the DEL. “Am I alive?”

“Shrug,” said Gareth. “Madalena?”

“'Shrug' is a valid answer to that question,” said Madalena.

“What?” Sidney blurted. “He clearly doesn't know who this person is, you have to at least tell him whether he's alive or not!”

“Wait, no,” said Gareth. “This is good! If the DEL doesn't get any information out of this, he can't narrow it down at all. Madalena is helping us here!”

“He got a lot of information,” Sidney said. “'Shrug' is a _more_ revealing answer than 'yes' or 'no'.”

“My turn,” said Gareth. “Am _I_ alive?”

“Oh yes,” said the DEL. “Let's see. Am I a child?”

“Madalena?”

“No,” she answered. “I wouldn't say that.”

“Do I have any children?” asked Gareth.

The DEL checked the scryglass. “No, you are not.”

“Am I from the Seven Realms?” the DEL asked.

“Not as far as I can tell, but how should I know?” asked Gareth.

“No,” Madalena clarified, “you're not, and probably wouldn't have heard of them.”

“Am I of noble birth?” Gareth inquired.

The DEL opened his mouth to speak, but Madalena beat him to the punch. “Boss, I would recommend just double-checking the scryglass for all of these, to be on the safe side.”

Dubiously, he squinted down, then shrugged. “What do I know. Yes, you are!”

“Hmm,” Gareth said. “A highborn lady, not a mother, still alive...I'll keep thinking...”

“My turn. Have I ever been married?”

“Well, how should I know?”

“That's a fair answer,” Madalena decreed.

“It's a _blatantly unfair_ answer!” Sidney protested.

“It is for the person who Gareth is!” she repeated.

“Don't encourage her, she'll start answering for him and we can't be having that,” Gareth repeated again. “Now let me see. Am I, by any chance, a military leader?”

Scryglass check. “Yes. As for me...am I a scholar, perhaps?”

“Couldn't tell you.”

“I'll allow it,” Madalena sighed.

“But—” Everyone began.

“Next question,” she said, bitterly wishing she'd taught Gareth the fundamentals of scryglass-peering at some point along the way.

“Do I happen to be shorter than, oh, Sidney here?” Gareth smiled.

“Hmm,” said the DEL with a glance at the scryglass, “I'd say so.”

“Well, it's your question, then. Make it a good one.”

“Do I have magical powers?”

“I don't know?”

“Okay,” Madalena butted in, “you can answer yes to that one.”

“Great,” said Gareth, “you're a wizard then. But as for myself, I'm going to guess that I'm Princess Isabella! Or whatever her full name is.”

“...No,” said the DEL. “That's not correct. Not under any name.”

“So what happens now?” Sidney asked.

“Game continues as normal,” Madalena said, “that just counts as Gareth's question.”

“A wrong guess isn't a forfeit?” the DEL bellowed. “What kind of arbiter are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “There are only two of you. You'd be here all week being cautious to a fault, and I'd just as soon not find drawers to keep the guests in.”

“Well, thank you for that just and proper decision!” Sidney grinned.

“This is the phase of the game where we need more drinks,” said Gareth.

Madalena was only too happy to watch as Gareth fetched drinks for himself and his rival and, after testing them for poison, they began gulping away. Of course, the Dark Evil Lord knew spells to deflect any mind-numbing effects of alcohol, whereas Gareth began going further and further off-topic. This didn't seem to take away from his energy, admittedly.

Unfortunately for the DEL, Gareth still was unable to answer most of the questions put to him, even with Madalena's promised aid. Anything about his occupation, family life, or biography was met with a blank stare and increasingly slurred “dunno,” which Madalena stubbornly refused to add to.

Eventually, the DEL came to learn that whoever “he” was, he was not physically disfigured in any noticeable way, nor did he suffer from any severe ailments other than the questionable state of being alive. Gareth, for his part, learned that his persona had seen combat, had been scarred, and was somewhat religious. None of these answers seemed to linger with him for longer than two rounds as he jumped from one line of questioning to another, calling for refills with increasing gusto.

“Am I a deity?” the DEL asked.

“'slike...probably not...cause...I dunno...but...you could be...but...I don't think Madalena puts much stock in that lark, y'know?” Gareth trailed off. “But maybe.”

“Perfect answer,” Madalena said.

“Right,” Gareth said. “Small...fearsome...wields a ranged weapon...that squirrelybeast what attacked me breakin' camp yesterday mornin'.”

“Gareth,” Sidney sighed, “you were _not_ attacked by a squirrel yesterday morning.”

“Sure I was! Nasty little blighter, shot at me and disappeared, the nerve.”

“I think you've had too much to drink.”

“I'm going to need to consult the scryglass on this,” said the DEL, gazing through the mists of time. “Madalena?”

“What?”

“Double-check me on this.”

Madalena stared into her own glass, replaying the events of the previous day at accelerated speed, first seeking out Gareth's camp and then following its unseen visitor. Improbably enough, Gareth had indeed been accosted by a rodent who had vanished into the cover of trees, and then made it to the DEL's fortress more quickly than he and Sidney had, climbing walls rather than worrying about booby-traps. And—somehow—it had been that very same squirrel who was singing outside her bedroom window that morning, inasmuch as squirrels could be said to sing. “As long as he specifies it unambiguously,” she said, “and I'm afraid he did, then by the exacting house rules of guess-the-name-on-my-forehead, he's technically the winner.”

“Oh, come _on!_ ” howled the DEL, while Sidney exulted. “That's what you get for trying to give 'the annoying squirrel caterwauling outside my room today' as a clue!”

“How did he even come _up_ with that?” Madalena moaned. “Did you, like, prop up a mirror behind him or something?”

“That would have been pretty clever,” Sidney admitted. “But no, _I_ don't cheat. He just hits his stride after the second drink or so.”

“Then who in blazes was I?” thundered the DEL, ripping his bandana off. “Lightsong, God of Bravery?”

“Not one I'm familiar with,” said Sidney.

“It's a fair cop,” he sighed, “but really, Madalena, it's like you're not even trying.”

“So?” Gareth demanded. “Our souls?”

“Oh. Yes. As you were, then.”

“Huh,” said Madalena. “I don't _feel_ any different.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Gareth shrugged. “So now that...that...ain't no problem, care to be ridin' back with us? You can show us how to reset them booby traps, an' all.”

“Nonsense! Just because the little detail of my soul is taken care of doesn't mean I don't have dozens of _other_ villainous tasks to be up to! Why, we were experimenting with some all-natural poison brews in the basement just this week! And then there's the fluffy white cat breeding program out back. Totally reasonable tasks, none requiring long-term jeopardy.”

The DEL sniffed. “I didn't know you cared.”

“Yeah, well, no thanks to you and your terrible business decisions. 'Grim reaper phase,' really? Next time leave the negotiations to me, and you handle upgrading from the all-black to something a little more colorful.”

“I suppose.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind,” said Gareth, “I'm sure you can use that scryglass to hunt me down.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Lightsong, God of Bravery is from Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson; Lady Amber the squirrelqueen is from Mossflower in the Redwall series by Brian Jacques.)


End file.
